


Every Family Needs a Center

by abstractconcept



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Caught having Sex, Cross-Generation Relationship, Established Relationship, Families of Choice, Found Families, Kitchen Sex, M/M, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-09 00:26:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1139273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abstractconcept/pseuds/abstractconcept
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt and Patrick's families aren't meshing very well, but they'll always have the team.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Family Needs a Center

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, I thought I should add a couple of notes. Which you can totally skip if you want.  
> 1st: this is for my trope bingo square for "chosen family."  
> Also, I did my best to convey how Patrick Roy sounds to me, sort of choppy with his English. To me it's always seemed like he speaks well but doesn't always enunciate and he often sort of fades off without ending his words. But by all means, if you see something misspelled outside of his dialogue, feel free to point it out so I can correct it. Especially since I tend to write the sexual bits with my eyes closed, lol. I don't know, ten years writing porn and I still get vaguely embarrassed!  
> Oh, also, I doubt the league would be okay with the relationship portrayed in the fic, but it's kind of fluffy, iddy fun-fic, so I chose not to sweat that too much. I think suspension of disbelief just kind of has to be a thing when you're writing about the world's best coach fucking his elite forward. ;D  
> Also also: this cements my belief that when I write porn, we win games. I wrote the porny bits during the Chicago game and Chicago only scored when I took breaks, and then we won last night (Happy Birthday, Matty!) after I fixed everything up, finished and posted it. So that's my new superstition, and you may expect further porn throughout the season if it continues to work, haha.

Every Family Needs a Center

Matt watched Nate pick at his food. Nate was a young guy, and his emotions always showed, his expressions like a movie projected on a giant screen. Right now he looked glum, but he didn’t seem like he wanted to talk about it. Matt had made a commitment to watch out for the younger guys the way the veterans used to watch out for him, so he frequently bought dinner and tried to get at the bottom of their troubles. He knew first-hand that it could help a lot, just having someone take an interest in you. Of course, Denny’s wouldn’t have been his first choice of restaurants, but if that was what Nate wanted, Matt would deal. He’d just get a salad or a glass of juice or something.

“Come on,” Matt urged. “You hardly touched your . . . food.” If you wanted to call it that. Nate had ordered some kind of skillet full of eggs and potatoes and cheese and stuff; it looked really greasy and the smell was sort of making Matt sick, especially since he’d poured syrup over the whole thing. “You know, you’d probably feel better if you ate healthier. I have a recipe for a great spinach and brown rice wrap—”

“It’s not the food, Dutchy,” Nate interrupted with a laugh. Then he looked distracted—and unhappy.

“So what’s the problem?” Matt asked. 

MacKinnon poked at his food. “Jiggy’s mother-in-law is moving in, so I gotta find a new place to stay,” he confessed. 

“Oh. Got it. That’s not a big deal, Nate. Why don’t you just come stay with us?” The words were out of his mouth before his brain had processed them. In fact, he was probably as surprised to hear them as Nate was. 

“You sure that’s okay with Patrick?” Nate echoed the same question he’d just wondered himself. 

Matt blinked. “Well, I mean, _yeah_. I think it’s okay. I’m sure it’s okay.” After all, Patrick would do absolutely anything for his team. He had been very clear that he would do whatever he had to do for them, all they had to do was ask. And if that meant letting the rookie stay in the basement for awhile, Matt was sure that would be okay. Almost sure. Pretty sure, anyway. “Yeah,” he repeated. “I’m sure it’ll be okay.”

oOoOoOo

“You ask him _what?_ ” Patrick blinked at him and Matt felt about an inch tall.

“. . . I invited Nate to use the basement,” Matt mumbled. “Well, what was I supposed to do? He needed a place to stay. Anyway, when I moved in, you said it was my place, too. You said to treat it like home. You said it wouldn’t change things. You said—”

Patrick held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, hey, you win already. Dutchy, I was not mad. I was just . . . surprised.”

“Why would you be surprised?” Matt always looked out for the younger guys. Everyone knew that.

“You don’t exactly make yourself at home,” Patrick told him dryly. 

Matt looked around the large kitchen and out into the living room. All of the decorations were Patrick’s; the house was filled with Patrick’s stuff. “I didn’t have a lot of junk to bring with when I moved in, that’s all,” Matt said. “And I don’t really care what color the curtains are.”

“I don’t mean that,” Patrick said, sinking into a kitchen chair. He gave Matt a look.

Matt looked at him, then down at floor. “I know.” It was just weird, and there was a lot of murky stuff to navigate, when you were lovers with the coach. There were the rules to get around, the age difference, the way the other players saw you—it all just got really complicated really fast. Mercifully, the other guys had been accepting after the initial surprise. Patrick didn’t show Matt special treatment on the ice—if anything, he became harder on Matt in front of the others—and Matt went out of his way to prove that he was still the same guy, and still worth a lot to the team. Eventually, Landeskog had jokingly announced that he’d sleep with Matt himself if it meant Matt kept on getting a goal and an assist per game, as he’d done for seven straight games after revealing his relationship with Patrick. Eventually that streak had ended, but the ice, so to speak, had been broken.

“I want it to be your home, too,” Patrick said gently. “I want you to feel relax here.”

“I know,” Matt repeated. He shrugged. “So I invited Nate to stay. It’s what I would have done if it was my house,” he added quietly.

“I’m glad,” Patrick said. Matt hoped he meant it.

oOoOoOo

If it had taken Matt awhile to settle in, it took Nate no time at all. Within a week Matt was picking Nate’s clothes off the floor and wiping his crumbs off the counter, and telling the kid _repeatedly_ that he needed to clean up after himself better.

Wednesday he found a sock in the refrigerator. “What is this?” he demanded when Nate got home from having lunch with McGinn. 

“A . . . trick question?” Nate replied, eyeing the sock and grinning like a jack-o-lantern.

“This was in the fridge. Nate, socks don’t go in the fridge. Also, if you finish off the milk, you buy a new one. You don’t leave the empty carton in there for someone else to find.” Matt was trying to be patient. He really was.

Now Nate was doing that kicked-puppy thing, his big, earnest face all sad. “I’m sorry, Dutchy.”

Matt let out a long breath through his nose. “I wouldn’t be angry, but I’ve told you this twice now. I need you . . . I need you to have more respect for the people you live with.” Weird, he could swear he was feeling déjà vu. Maybe he’d said the same thing last time. “I feel really frustrated when I ask you not to do something and you do it anyway.”

“I’m sorry, Dutchy. I won’t do it again.” To show he was turning over a new leaf, Nate offered to make spaghetti for dinner. It was all he knew how to make. Matt made a mental note to show him how to cook some healthier stuff.

“Sure.” Matt relented. “We’ve got some gluten-free pasta in the cupboard on the right. And you can make a salad, while you're at it. Thanks.” He went and found Patrick watching the news. “Nate’s making dinner,” he said. “I talked to him about the milk. And the sock.”

“Yeah, I overhear that,” Patrick said. “You sound just like my mom,” he added, and laughed. 

Matt flushed. Holy shit, Patrick was right. His mom used to say that. _You need to have more respect for the people you’re living with_ , she would scold as she picked up his dirty socks. 

At the look on Matt’s face, Patrick laughed even harder. “We all turn into our parents,” he said apologetically. “It happens before you know it.” 

Matt snatched up the remote and flicked the television off. 

Patrick looked at him in surprise. “Hey, I was watching that. What—”

“Nate’s making dinner. You can set the table,” Matt told him. He was done being the only one taking care of this stuff.

Patrick folded his arms behind his head, reclining against his leather sofa and looking amused. “Yeah? What about you?”

Matt tried to look as in-charge and unflustered as possible. “I’ve had a long day,” he said. “I’m gonna go do some weights and have a shower before dinner.”

Patrick laughed again. “For my mom, it was a long bath. We got some bath salts if you wanna use ‘em.”

“You are not funny,” Matt said. “And next time he pulls this, it’s _your_ turn to deal with it,” he added. 

Patrick just kept on laughing. “Sure, sure. Maybe I give him the talk about the girls and the bees while I’m at it.”

“Birds. Whatever. You want to give him the sex talk, you go ahead, but I think he already knows,” Matt said, and headed to the weight room. 

Later that night, after dinner, he did take a long, hot bath—but only after Patrick agreed to join him.

oOoOoOo

Matt stared out the passenger window.

“That peach pie was really good,” Patrick said. Matt didn’t answer. “I’m gonna have to get the recipe for that.” His voice sounded overly-cheerful, false and loud in the truck cab. “What do you think, think we should get that recipe?”

“Sure,” Matt replied tonelessly. 

Patrick cleared his throat. He fiddled with the radio a bit. “Not much good on. You want to choose the station?”

“No.”

From the corner of his eye, Matt could see the man squirm in the driver’s seat. He didn’t want to see it, so he turned his head so all he could see was the landscape passing by the passenger window. Lots of fields, dark now. Nothing much to see, but it didn’t matter. 

“Dutchy . . .”

“Don’t,” Matt grunted. 

“Hey, it’ll be okay.”

After a long, quiet beat, Matt murmured, “They _hate_ me.” 

Patrick sighed. “No, they don’t. Yvette like you. Her whole _family_ like you.”

Matt stared unhappily at the blurred countryside. “Yvette doesn’t count,” he replied softly. “Your _son_ hates me. He even pretended not to hear me when I asked him to pass the salt at dinner.”

Yvette was Frederick’s girlfriend. She’d invited Patrick and Matt to her parents’ place for Christmas Eve, and since they had a game in Montreal on the 23rd, they had agreed to come. It had been awkward. Really awkward. 

“He just don’t know you, yet. Anyway, you ask in English. He maybe was listening in French,” Patrick smoothly lied.

That was another thing; Matt spoke a little French, but Frederick, Yvette and her whole family spoke pretty much nothing but. Matt had been lots of places where he didn’t speak the language, but he’d never felt so left out before. Yvette had tried, but Frederick had been a block of ice. “He’s never going to accept it,” Matt muttered. 

“He’ll have to,” Patrick replied. “Or he can just sulk, but he won’t change my mind. Time for him to grow up. He need to accept this is my decision.” 

Matt swallowed hard. Patrick had _three kids_. What if they all hated him on sight? Why wouldn’t they? Sure, the divorce had been years ago, but no kid wanted to see their mom replaced with a younger model, and the fact that Matt was a dude probably didn’t help. Matt’s family wasn’t happy, either, though he was pretty sure they were softening. No one could resist Patrick when he was being charming, and he had gone out of his way to charm Matt’s family. Still, the whole situation was making him depressed. This wasn’t how he pictured things turning out. Of course, he hadn’t really ever planned on falling for Patrick. But even when he had, he hadn’t realized how hard things would be. 

He felt Patrick put a hand on his leg, his thumb caressing Matt’s thigh. “You want me to talk to him? I talk to him.”

Matt smiled wanly. “We’ll work it out ourselves.” That was the adult thing to do. Besides, what good would it do? Patrick couldn’t _make_ Frederick like him. Either he’d get over it or he wouldn’t. Matt knew it didn’t do any good to brood about it; he needed to accept that it was something he couldn’t change, and move on. He knew he’d end up talking about it with his counsellor, though—even if it was just to vent. 

“You sure you’re okay?” Patrick asked. 

“It’s fine.” It wasn’t fine; it fed into a lot of issues that were beginning to crop up. Family was important to Matt. It was important to Patrick, too—and theirs didn’t seem like they were going to mesh. On top of that, Patrick already had kids and was ambivalent about having more, but Matt was starting to yearn for a family of his own. But that was only tangentially related to the problem with Frederick, which Patrick couldn’t fix anyway. And Matt really didn’t feel like talking about it tonight; he’d wait until he had a little emotional distance from the whole thing, and bring it up when he was feeling more level. 

“I love you,” Patrick said, a note of worry in his voice, a little questioning.

Matt half smiled. “Yeah. Love you too.” He put his hand over Patrick’s and squeezed it. 

Then he went back to staring at the empty countryside—and worrying.

oOoOoOo

They finally pulled into their own driveway at a little after midnight. Patrick had to nudge Matt awake, and he stretched, yawning. “Nate’s truck is gone,” Patrick noted. The team had flown in the day earlier, beating them home.

Matt rubbed his face. “Yeah. He said he was probably going to stay at Gabe’s for Christmas.”

They got out and Matt made to get the luggage, but Patrick said, “Eh, leave it for the morning.” The drive in from D.I.A. had been long, and Matt was in no mood to disagree with that. 

They trudged inside and Matt kicked off his shoes in the front hall. It felt good to be home. Paisley greeted him with a wagging tail and a happy doggy smile, and Matt patted his head. “Hey, boy. I’ll let you out.” He opened the back door and the dog loped out to run around and sniff the trees. Matt shut the door after him; he was going to want to work off some energy. The house was dark and quiet, but something smelled nice. Matt wandered into the kitchen and found a plate of chocolate chip cookies with a note from Nate. It said, “For Patrick, Dutchy, and Santa. Thanks for giving me a place to sleep.” It had a little smiley face on it. Matt had to grin. “Check it out,” he called to Patrick. 

Patrick nodded approvingly after trying one of the cookies. “You got to admit, he’s showing some improvement.” 

Matt laughed and pulled an empty Betty Crocker box out of the trash. “I doubt we’ll have a gourmet chef on our hands anytime soon.”

Patrick winked. “At least it says gluten-free on it.” He went and poured them a couple of glasses of milk. 

“And he _did_ put the box in the trash,” Matt added. Compared to socks in the fridge, it was a miracle.

“He’s a good kid.”

“Yeah, he really is.” And the cookies were good, too, warm and soft and gooey, the way God intended. Matt actually had three before he began to feel guilty about all the holiday junk food he’d been eating lately. He gulped the rest of his milk, then took his glass, and Patrick’s, and went to rinse them out. 

“Hey! How do you know I’m done?” Patrick protested with a laugh. 

“You had four,” Matt said primly. “You’re done.” Patrick bitched constantly about his waist these days, and it was easier to keep the pounds off than take them off. Besides, overeating made him sluggish, and Matt was sort of hoping he’d have some energy, since they had the whole house to themselves for once. 

Patrick must have been reading his mind, because as Matt wet the sponge and wiped the crumbs off the counter, the man came up behind him and wrapped his arms around Matt’s waist. 

Matt tried not to grin. “What do you want?” he asked coyly.

“I want to fuck you,” Patrick replied without any coyness whatsoever, and Matt had to laugh. 

“What, here?”

“Yeah, here,” Patrick said, kissing the back of his neck. “Here, there, everywhere.” Matt shivered as Patrick kissed the nape of his neck again and again. Then the man pressed against him and he could feel the man’s growing erection pressing against his ass. 

Matt let out a long breath. He turned his head and kissed Patrick on the mouth. “Feels good,” he mumbled.

Patrick kissed his ear. “I like to make you feel good,” he huffed. He nipped Matt’s earlobe. 

Matt chuckled; he was getting all kinds of turned on. It was hard to find the time and energy to make each other a priority; they were both sort of married to the game first and foremost. Patrick was kissing up and down his neck, murmuring French against his skin. Matt could feel heat beginning to build in his stomach. He reached down and took Patrick’s hand, moving it down, placing it on is own erection. Matt hummed his approval.

Patrick chuckled softly. “I make you feel good,” he muttered, rubbing Matt’s prick. “You like that?”

Matt nodded, panting a little.

This wasn’t enough for Patrick. “Tell me how much you like it,” he urged. 

Matt had to grin. Patrick was always bossy—bossier in bed than on the ice, even. On the ice he was your buddy, your best friend, all a team together. In bed he was unapologetically assertive and demanding, and Matt ate it up. “I like it,” he murmured. 

“What’s that?” Patrick prodded. He stroked Matt through his jeans, strong hand pressed against his straining prick. 

“I like it,” Matt said, laughing. He turned in Patrick’s arms. “You’re so bad.”

“Eh, you know you love it.” Patrick kissed him deeply. 

Matt carded his fingers through Patrick’s hair. There was something so crazy intimate about just standing there, in the kitchen, kissing, and kissing again. Patrick cupped his ass, squeezing it, pressing their bodies tightly together. Matt began to rut against the man’s hip. He was dying for more friction. 

Patrick broke the kiss to gaze at him. “I like the way you look this way,” he said. “Face all red, eyes all . . . what’s the word? All glassy. I like that.” He touched Matt’s chin with his thumb. “Very pretty boy.” He gave Matt a wicked grin.

Matt smiled lazily. “I like the way you look, too,” he murmured, kissing him again.

“Yeah? How?”

“Smirky and smug and cocky as hell,” Matt told him with a husky laugh. 

Patrick laughed too. “I got a lot of good reason to be smug,” he replied. He tilted Matt’s head back and kissed his chin, his throat. He slipped one hand into Matt’s jeans, fingertips brushing over the head of his cock and making Matt gasp. “Drop your jeans,” Patrick suggested, and Matt hurried to obey. Patrick was stroking him now, long, slow strokes that drove Matt crazy. 

Matt let his head fall back, enjoying the feel of Patrick’s hot tongue playing up and down his throat. “Oh, God.”

“Hop up on the counter for me. Good boy,” he said as Matt did as he was told. He continued to kiss and nuzzle Matt’s throat, growling something in French that Matt would have bet good money was filthy.

“Oh, yeah,” Matt said. “Like that.”

“Such a good boy,” Patrick murmured. “You love that, don’t you, _mon ange?_ ”

“Yes,” Matt gasped. “Love when you do that.”

Patrick grinned and winked at him. “You keep talking,” he said. He sank to his knees in front of Matt and took his prick into his mouth, hot and wet and—

Matt cried out softly. “Oh, fuck. Oh God, yes, suck me,” he begged. 

Patrick licked up and down his shaft. “Say please,” he purred. 

“Please,” Matt said promptly. He had learned quite early in their relationship that obedience was a good route to getting what he wanted. 

Patrick laughed, kissing the head of his prick. “That’s right. My good boy,” he said. He sucked Matt’s prick, head bobbing, as Matt whimpered and squirmed. 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” Matt chanted. He felt so exposed, cold granite against his thighs. The kitchen was so open; you could see into the dark living room, down the hall, up the stairs and, over on the left, the stairs that led down into the basement. It felt deliciously dirty to be doing this right here, right where they made dinner every night. “Oh, feels so good,” he panted. 

To his disappointment, Patrick paused, labouring to get up from the hard linoleum. “Open that cupboard,” he instructed. 

“Huh?”

“Hand me the oil.”

Matt felt the heat roar through his face as he rooted around in the cupboard. “Seriously?”

“You want me to do this without it?”

“I could run upst—” But too late—Patrick had grabbed one of his legs and shoved it wide, slipping a finger up inside Matt’s body. “Ohshit,” Matt mumbled.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. Come on. My boy. _Mon cœur_ ,” Patrick soothed, finger working in and out of Matt’s hole. 

Matt was all right—it wasn’t like his body wasn’t used to it—but he did love hearing Patrick murmur sweet things at him. “More,” he mumbled. Patrick added another finger, and Matt had to snort. “No, I mean more—you know.” He felt unaccountably embarrassed asking for it. “More words,” he tried to explain. “More French?” he added, blushing. 

Patrick, however, looked really pleased, like his puppy had learned a new trick. “Mon ange,” he said, leaning forward to give Matt a kiss. Matt kissed back eagerly, wrapping his arms around Patrick’s shoulders. “Mon ange, mon cœur, _mon trésor._ Want you,” Patrick huffed against his open mouth. “Want to fuck you. Want to be inside you.” He kissed Matt again and again. “Je bande pour toi,” he whispered. 

“What does that mean?” Matt panted, enjoying every moment.

Patrick laughed. “I have a boner for you,” he answered. 

“Sounds better in French.”

“Everything does,” Patrick agreed. He kissed Matt again. “Mon tresor,” he murmured. “Je veux t'enculer. You want me?” He undid his fly. “Hmm? You want this?”

Matt nodded eagerly. “Yes.”

“Say it.”

“I want you inside me. _Please_ ,” Matt added hastily. Slowly, Patrick lined up his cock and began to fuck him. Matt shifted, trying to get comfortable on the hard countertop. They both liked to cook so they had a large kitchen, but the counters weren’t made for fucking. With each thrust, Patrick shoved him up against the cupboard, a thump, thump, thump against the hollow wood. 

Patrick took one of his ankles, lifting it up high. Matt could only stretch that much because he was so athletic, but he loved the way it made him feel, wide open, totally at Patrick’s mercy. 

“Oh yes, you feel so good inside,” Patrick gasped. He kissed Matt deeply as he thrust into him. He smiled as Matt groaned, head falling back. “Mon mignon, you’re so pretty like this,” he growled. “Such a good boy.”

“Oh, God,” Matt moaned. 

“You tell me how you want it,” Patrick said. 

“Oh, yeah,” Matt panted. He dug his fingers into Patrick’s shoulder. “Harder,” he begged. 

Patrick thrust harder. “Like that?”

“Oh, yeah, just like that.” Matt could feel sweat trickling down the back of his neck. He moaned as Patrick shifted, hitting him in just the right spot. “Oh, God, right there, right there.” He dropped one hand to brace himself better, gripping the edge of the counter. 

Patrick took his other leg, holding it behind the knee, spreading him wide.

“Oh, _fuck yes_ ,” Matt keened. “Oh, that’s it, that’s it, right there, harder.” He felt so fucking good this way, laid out on the counter like a midnight snack. “It’s so good. I’m so close.”

“Yeah?” Patrick said breathlessly. He leaned his forehead against Matt’s, looking intensely into his eyes. “You going to come when I tell you to?”

There was nothing that turned Matt on more than being ordered to come. Patrick had him trained to do it just about at a word. He nodded hard, feeling desperate, balls aching. “Yes,” he said. 

“Yeah?” Patrick’s smile was indolent, full of self-satisfaction. He could do this all night. 

“Yeah. Yessss. _Please_ ,” Matt begged. 

Patrick’s grin stretched and he kissed Matt, coaxing his tongue out. Matt continued to whimper softly, hoping he was getting the whole ‘frantic to come right now please’ thing across. He reached down to touch himself, tugging his prick. 

Patrick pulled back, smiled fondly at the whole picture Matt was presenting, then leaned in. “Okay, Dutchy,” he whispered. 

Matt gave his cock another couple of rough tugs and then he was spurting, keening softly. Patrick kissed his ear. 

“That was nice. Very nice job. Here, now change up,” Patrick ordered. Matt got down from the counter on wobbly legs and let Patrick manipulate him into position, bending him over the counter. Matt braced himself, hands against the cupboards, as he let Patrick fuck him roughly. He had that same wonderful feeling of catharsis he always got with Patrick, the feeling of having been wound up and then unleashed, a feeling of have been taken right to the edge of everything. 

“So good,” he murmured. “So good.” He pressed back against Patrick, pushing back counterpoint to Patrick’s thrusts, creating a faster rhythm. 

Patrick groaned softly, hands squeezing Matt’s hips. “That’s it, Dutchy. Give it to me.” He thrust harder and harder, Matt’s knees banging against the cupboards. 

Matt smiled at Patrick over his shoulder. “Am I good for you?” he asked hoarsely. “Is it good?” 

Patrick stilled, coming then and there, and Matt moaned. 

The room was suddenly flooded with light. Matt looked around wildly, trying to shield his eyes from the brightness. “What—?”

“Oh, God.” Nate was standing at the top of the stairs, hand still on the light switch. His expressions were even more pronounced than usual, such horror and shock that it was almost comical. “I heard thumping noises and thought someone broke in,” he blurted. He flipped the lights back off. “Or, like, possibly Santa came or some shit.”

“I thought you were over at Gabe’s! Your car isn’t here!” Matt exclaimed, grabbing a dishtowel to hide what he could. 

Nate had a hand over his eyes now anyway. “It broke down. I had to get it towed. Dude, guys, _seriously?_ In the _kitchen?_ ”

“It is my house,” Patrick pointed out, sounding awfully fucking composed, considering. 

“Yeah, okay, whatever—I’m going back downstairs, okay?” Nate said, his voice high. “I’m turning around and I’m going back downstairs and I’m going to pray to God I don’t dream about this tonight.”

“Sorry,” Matt called after him weakly. 

“Uh-uh. Don’t want to hear it right now,” Nate said. “Just want to forget.” His steps quickly thumped all the way back down the steps. 

Patrick sighed. “What you think is worse, the fact that he discover Santa isn’t real or the fact that he saw us like this?”

Matt ran the dishtowel under the faucet and handed it to him. “Just clean up fast so we can get upstairs,” he replied. 

This was going to be the most awkward Christmas morning ever.

oOoOoOo

The next morning Matt puttered around the kitchen, waiting for Nate to come upstairs. He felt so guilty that he found himself fixing a huge meal; eggs and pancakes and French toast and everything he could think of. Which was slightly stupid; Patrick insisted Matt had worn him out and was sleeping late, and Nate was obviously trying to avoid the whole thing, and Matt was so nervous he wasn’t hungry.

Luckily, Pauly and McGinn showed up then, and their eyes lit up at the bounty on the table. 

“You guys eat already?” Matt asked. “Help yourself.”

“I haven’t eaten,” Jamie said, helping himself. 

“I have, but I can definitely eat more,” Pauly added. 

“Jesus, did you do all this yourself? It’s like Donna Freaking Reed,” McGinn joked. “I love it,” he added after piling about twelve pieces of bacon on his plate. 

Matt smiled, relaxing a little. It sure was good to feel normal. He wondered how long it would last. This could be a huge thing; he could lose his job, even. Was Nate technically a minor? He wasn’t twenty-one. There had to be some kind of law against having gay sex in front of teenage NHL stars. Or it probably went against some kind of ethics code. 

Matt sighed, wiping down the counters nervously. Shit, Nate was going to be weird around them now. And he really liked the kid. He liked having him around. He didn’t want Nate to be grossed out by him. 

“What’s the matter, Dutchy?” Pauly asked around a mouthful of toast.

“Nothing.”

“You and Patty have a spat?”

“What? _No!_ It’s . . . nothing.” Would Nate tell the other guys? It could make _everything_ weird. “Just had a rough couple of days,” he muttered to Pauly. 

“Meet the family didn’t go so great?” Pauly was looking at him with warm, sympathetic eyes. 

Matt heaved a sigh. He’d managed to forget about that. “That, too,” he admitted. 

“Hey, man, you don’t need them. You got us,” McGinn told him. 

Matt smiled. The team _was_ a sort of family. If only Nate hadn’t—

Just then, Nate appeared in the doorway. He looked like a deer in the headlights for a second, then ducked his head. “Hey, guys,” he grunted. 

“Hey. We came to give you a lift over to Gabe’s.”

“Good. Let’s hit it.”

McGinn gave him a ‘ _What, are you crazy?_ ’ sort of look and gestured to the table. 

“I’m not hungry,” Nate said with a quasi-shrug. 

Pauly, who had been looking at Nate’s big, expressive face, frowned. “Uh-oh. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Nate said, and gulped. Jesus Christ, he looked like he robbed a liquor store. He couldn’t look more full of guilty knowledge if he tried. “I’ll be in the car.” He grabbed his jacket and rushed out of the room. 

Blood pounding in his ears, Matt ran after him and grabbed his arm just as he opened the front door. “Look, we gotta talk about this.”

“No, we don’t,” Nate said quickly. 

“We do! I’m sorry. I just need to say that. We both are. Me and Patrick. We didn’t mean for it to happen, and we were careless and stupid and it won’t happen again. And I’m just—I’m just sorry. I know you’re grossed out, but I really wish you wouldn’t look at me differently.”

Nate was absolutely refusing to meet his eye. “I don’t, all right?”

“You do! You are! I can tell you’re disgusted by me; you can’t even look at me!” Matt exclaimed. 

“Ugh. I’m not disgusted _by you_ ,” Nate snapped. “But yeah, it was gross and weird. Not because you’re guys, exactly, but. I mean. Come on. _You_ know. It was like walking in on my parents having sex! God, Matt, no one wants to see their parents having sex, okay?”

Matt stared at him, speechless. 

“Holy shit, you walked in on Coach and Dutchy doing it?” Pauly exclaimed. “That is HILARIOUS.” He and McGinn had followed and were standing by the kitchen entryway. 

“Shut up,” Matt mumbled. 

McGinn laughed uproariously. “Holy shit, call Gabe! Tweet that shit!”

“DO NOT FUCKING TWEET ABOUT THAT,” Matt snarled. “You _want_ me to lose my job?”

He must have sounded really, really serious, because both guys stopped laughing immediately. “You made Mom mad,” Pauly whispered at McGinn. McGinn stomped on his foot. 

“You’re going to get us both in trouble,” McGinn replied. 

Matt rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Go finish your fucking breakfast,” he snapped. “I want to talk with Nate. Alone.” They scampered back into the kitchen, which was kind of weird. He rarely had that kind of sway. They listened to him and respected him, but when he said jump they didn’t exactly say, ‘How high?’ He turned back to Nate. “Please,” he said. “Let’s just forget this happened. Okay?”

“I will. Well, I’ll definitely try. But it’s just—I think it will be awkward for a bit, that’s all.”

“Are you going to move out?” Matt asked, tense. 

Nate relaxed a little, and even smiled. “No, I don’t want to move out. Do you want me to?”

“No.”

“It’s cool, Dutchy. Everything’s cool. Or, I mean, it will be. Just . . . not in the kitchen again, please?”

“Promise,” Matt swore. Hell, at this point he was ready to book a motel room every time Patrick got frisky, just out of sheer paranoia. “Come back and have breakfast?”

Nate relented. Patrick came down about then too, looking serene even though he was wearing boxers and a tattered old plaid robe. The guys grinned at him and elbowed each other and chuckled, but he calmed them down with just the arch of an eyebrow. “One wrong word and you walk home from Philadelphia next Thursday after the game,” he informed them. “This look good; who made all this?” he asked, looking around the at the spread. The guys grinned at each other and looked at Matt, who found himself blushing.

“It’s Christmas,” he said. “Let’s live a little.” He warmed up some sausages and poured Patrick some orange juice, and they all sat down around the table, and things began to get back to normal. It was such a relief to laugh and chat about hockey and gifts and everyday stuff. 

“Got me a new set of tires for Christmas,” Pauly said. “And tickets to Vail.”

“That’s cool,” Matt said. “Patrick got me a new rod; it’s real nice. Can’t wait to try it out.”

“Dutchy bought me some sexy new underwear,” Patrick teased, causing Nate to look pained. “Just kidding. He bought me a nice Columbia jacket, though.” He winked. “You having a happy Christmas, there, Dutchy?”

Matt sipped his coffee. “I’ve had worse.” 

“Hey, Mom, pass the creamer,” McGinn suggested. 

Matt automatically handed it to him, not even paying attention until he saw the expression on Patrick’s face. 

“ _Mom?_ ” the man echoed. 

“Uh-oh, I feel a new team nickname coming on,” Pauly said cheerfully. 

“Oh, God,” Matt groaned. 

Nate laughed. “Mom,” he repeated. “I like that.” He grinned at Matt. “Mom.” 

Matt felt so relieved to have Nate acting like his normal goofball self that he let the matter drop. If it meant dispelling any lingering weirdness, he could deal with a silly nickname.

Afterward, Matt cleaned up the kitchen, having given the guys permission to head to Gabe’s without helping. It was Christmas, after all, and he needed some peace and quiet. He was up to his elbows in soap suds when he heard Patrick upstairs, shouting in French. 

Hurriedly, Matt wiped his hands off and hastened upstairs to find Patrick on his cellphone, red-faced, unleashing a torrent of non-stop angry French. Matt raised his eyebrows, but Patrick imperiously waved him away. Matt retreated, but stood outside the door for another minute or so, trying to figure out what the man was saying. Eventually he had to give up; his French was pretty terrible, and Patrick was talking much too fast. 

When the man came downstairs a solid hour later, Matt was waiting for him with a glass of red wine. He’d already polished off half the bottle himself, anxious and overwrought after a crummy couple of days. He couldn’t imagine what fresh hell had set Patrick off, but he was worried the man was going to have a heart attack. 

“What was _that_ about?” he asked as the man accepted the glass of wine. 

“Nothing,” Patrick said airily. 

“What do you mean, nothing? You spend an hour having a total fucking foreign breakdown and it’s nothing?” 

Patrick laughed and plopped down beside him on the couch, putting his feet up on the coffee table. “You’re too uptight, Dutchy.”

“ _I’m_ too uptight!?” Matt squawked. 

“No, I mean . . . it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it; I just had to take care of something and I did. Problem solved,” Patrick promised. “It’s over and done and not for you to worry about,” he said, blue eyes earnest. At Matt’s doubtful look he added, “Do I ever do anything for no reason?”

Matt smiled. It was true; there was usually a method to Patrick’s madness. “All right,” he sighed. “I’ve had enough trouble for one day anyway.” He leaned on Patrick’s shoulder. “I’ll wait for the other shoe to drop.”

oOoOoOo

The other shoe dropped a couple of days later, but it wasn’t as bad as Matt expected.

They were coming back from an exhausting overtime win, and Nate was fast asleep in the back seat. He had played through a nasty head cold, and Matt was sort of proud of him. “You get the mail, Dutchy,” Patrick said as they drove up. “I carry Nate to bed.”

Matt laughed, but obediently went to get the mail while Patrick prodded Nate and convinced him to go inside and take a decongestant. 

Matt brought the mail into the kitchen, sorting through it as he absently kicked off his shoes and nudged them out of the doorway, and greeted Paisley with a pat on the head. There were a few bills and what looked like a letter addressed to him. He opened it, blinked, and read and re-read it a few times. Finally he flicked off the kitchen light and went upstairs to find Patrick changing. 

“What do you know about this?” he asked. 

“Is that the electric? I tell Nate to turn down that damn thermostat when he go out,” Patrick complained, pulling a t-shirt over his head. 

“Not that. Your son wrote me a letter apologizing for his behavior and telling me he hoped I’d give him a second chance and promising to be polite in the future.”

“Oh, that. Good.”

“Is that what you were being apoplectic in French about on the phone the other day?”

“Maybe.”

“ _Patrick._ You can’t call and scream obscenities at your kid just because he’s not crazy about his new stepmom.” 

“He’s not a kid, he’s a man. And I wasn’t yelling because he don’t like you. I make it clear, he can feel anyway he wants. But he had goddamn better be respectful to you about it, because I raise him better than that. I just call him and say I expect him to offer you a sincere apology, or next time I see him I’m gonna put my boot up his ass.”

“ _Patrick,_ ” Matt repeated, torn between affection and exasperation. 

“Eh, maybe someday if we get more kids you understand,” Patrick replied. 

Matt threw his arms around the man. “Oh, Patrick,” he mumbled again, against the man’s shoulder. 

Patrick hugged him tight and kissed the side of his head. “Sometime you just gotta be a hardass. He knows I love him. But you can’t let ‘em walk on you.” 

Matt shut his eyes and just enjoyed the feel of Patrick rubbing his back. “Thanks,” he huffed. Maybe he and Frederick would never be best friends, but he was sure they’d work it out eventually. And even though he’d wanted to hash it out himself, Patrick probably did the right thing. Well, more or less. Apart from the screaming and obscenities, anyway. Then again, they were Roys. Incendiary profanity was probably their first language, French their second. He pulled back and gave the man a tired smile. “You’re too good to me.” 

Patrick chuckled. “I use that as a get out of doghouse for free card next time I mess up,” he said, and gave Matt a peck on the lips. “By the way, your dad call yesterday and we talked awhile. We’re thinking of doing a cruise next summer. What you say to that? Want to take a cruise? The whole family?”

Matt rolled his eyes. “You do not need to take my whole family on a cruise.”

“Eh, that’s not what your sister told me. She wants to go to Cozumel. Come on. It’ll be fun.”

It was so like Patrick, schmoozing the whole family with ridiculous gifts. Still, it made Matt really happy to hear that his dad seemed to be coming around. “Maybe,” he hedged.

There was a knock on the bedroom door and Matt went to open it. Nate stood there, looking sheepish in his rumpled t-shirt and pyjama bottoms. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt anything.” 

“It’s fine,” Matt assured him. “What’s up?”

Nate grinned. “I’m out of Kleenexes, Mom. You guys got an extra box?” 

Heck, why had he ever worried about having a family? He had a whole fucking hockey team’s worth of family. They were good practice, too—just in case he and Patrick ever decided to adopt. If he could handle these monkeys, he could handle anything.

Matt laughed and got the box of tissues off the bedside table. “I think we got some Nyquil in our bathroom, too,” he offered. “Let me get it for you.”


End file.
